EDITOR’S NOTE: Well aware that this is ancient at this point — I’d started work on it when it was still somewhat relevant, then got shut down by work, and all of a sudden it was a full two days after the news cycle had stopped giving a shit and I still felt partial to the image. Your indulgence is appreciated.

Shocking news out of New York on Monday: Someone found engaging in a business relationship with embulleted New York Giants wide receiver Plaxico Burress to be “an ordeal.” Well, knock me over with an obviousness!

Frankly, it surprises me far more that the AP did this much digging on Plax’s background than it does that he’s forgotten, neglected or flat-out declined to fulfill his legal, financial or adult responsibilities on at least nine occasions over the past nine years. I had pretty much accepted as a given that, with the exception of those periods of motivation during which he could elevate his athletic gifts to a level matched by very few of his peers, he was pretty much a focusless fuckup more suited to a supporting role in How High? or a Waldo Faldo-heavy episode of Family Matters than to matters of, y’know, any sort of relevance. That anyone else hadn’t is something of a shock to me.

Also, did you know that Wimpy’s full name is J. Wellington Wimpy? Because that fucking blew my mind.

(Original photo by Jim McIsaac/Getty Images via Daylife; Photo editing by this is the city line. staff via ROFLbot, accessed at Grimey’s LOLJocks)

You all already know all about this, whether from VH1’s announcement or the items on Deadspin, The 700 Level, Black Sports Online or any of the millions of other outlets that commented on it (personally, I got it from friend and former editor NineDaves on Monday afternoon). They’ve all done a fine job discussing it; I can add no substantive comments, or even anything in the way of witty, jovial snark.

In part, that’s because work locked me up for the last couple of days, preventing me from addressing this topic before everyone else had the chance to, which means the carcass of this story has already been picked pretty clean. But mostly it’s because, for some reason, every time Terrell Owens’ name comes up I find myself getting the same type of mental twitch that Patton Oswalt says made him persona non grata at his former talking head job on Best Week Ever (appropriately enough, a VH1 show). The bit is featured on his fantastic standup album, Werewolves and Lollipops:

I got to the point where I couldn’t be funny anymore, ’cause I’m such an idiot, and they would go, ‘Hey Patton, Paris Hilton’s writing a book.’ And I would go, ‘She’s a cunt who should die of AIDS.’

‘As long as she gets AIDS, that’s fine with me. If she could get cancer of the AIDS of the leukemia of the eyes, that would be awesome. If like, a biker could just fuck that into her skull.’

‘Alright, funnyman Patton Oswalt. Let’s go to the Sizzler …’“

Yeah, that was pretty much it. ND tells me that T.O.’s getting a reality show, and my first thought is, “Is it a show like Jackass where he stands the chance of being maimed at all times? No? Oh, well.”

That said, far be it from me to begrudge anyone else their entertainment — if you do watch his new show when it debuts, I hope it’s compelling on some level and that you enjoy it. I don’t think I’ll be joining you, though; I’m tired of his act, tired of his face and tired of the misguided notion that he’s at all relevant as an elite athlete anymore. I guess I see it like this: T.O.’s like Freddy Krueger. He stopped being interesting to me when he stopped being scary.